


Cadillac Caldwell: Club Runner, Disco Prince, and Black Manta Fanboy

by mikeymagee



Category: Aquaman (2018), Aquaman (Comics), Justice League (2017), The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Fanboy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: Cadillac was a lot of things. A disco legend. A club owner. A man who'll break your knee caps if you look at him the wrong way. But no one would have ever guessed he was a fan of Black Manta. No even himself. When he finds an old Aquaman comic book laying around behind the bar, he becomes enamored with the deep sea, treasure stealing, grief giving rogue.Truth be told, Manta and Cadillac have a lot in common...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my second entry for the #BlackInFanfiction:FIRE!!!! fic-a-thon :)   
> After hearing about Yahya's casting as Black Manta, I just had to do something like this :)

Saturday night, and not a single fly lady was in the flyest club this side of Harlem. And Cadillac, the self-proclaimed disco prince of the Bronx...wasn’t happy about it. 

 

How the fuck did one of the biggest disco palaces in the Bronx go from hot to not so quickly? So there was one small shooting, and one little gang shoot out and suddenly the whole damn neighborhood wanted to stay home. 

 

What the ever loving fuck was wrong with those cats?

 

The Les-Inferno club was empty. No dudes in bell bottom pants, no honeys in skin tight dresses. No DJ’s to spin the latest records. No strobe lights and fog to mask the scent of marijuana. It was just...dead.

 

A dead disco. A nightmare Cadillac hoped would never come. 

 

Cadillac sauntered to the bar, and poured himself a drink of whiskey. Shit, if no one else was gonna enjoy this shit, then he might as well take what he could for himself. It was his club after all. And everything in it was his. From the velvet chairs, to the blood spattered disco ball. He had been meaning to get that thing replaced by the way. A blood stained disco ball had a tendency to scare away the girls. 

 

Cadillac slugged the last glass full of whiskey and screamed. 

 

“‘Dis some bullshit.” He slammed the glass down on the bar top, and its bottom shattered. Glass shards fell to the floor like rain drops. “Ain’t one mother fucka’ in this place.” 

 

Not even the damn bartender got his lazy ass to his job. What the fuck was Cadillac paying these clowns for? It certainly wasn’t to sit in the back, smoke all this blow and read comic books. 

 

That’s right. Those niggas read comic books on Cadillac’s dime. Sometimes, when the party was really getting good, Cadillac out of the corner of his eye could see Bruce flipping the pages of one of his geek-zines. Something about Superman and Batman gettin’ it on. 

 

And now, behind the bar counter, tuck away behind the schnapps and the cider, sat the stack of comic books that Bruce was always eye ballin’ when his lazy ass needed to be pouring drinks. 

 

“Shit,” Cadillac said. “I oughtta burn those suckas.” He plucked a crinkled comic from the pile. “ _ Aquaman: Death of a Prince _ ?”

 

Cadillac reach for the bottle of bourbon and popped the cork. It was the expensive shit, but hell, no one was here. It was one thing to be reading comic books, but if Bruce was gonna do that shit, he should at least read about a hero with some damn  _ balls.   _ Wasn’t Aquaman the dude that talked to fish? What the hell was he supposed to do when a club was gettin’ shot up, call a dolphin for backup? At least Batman had a utility belt. 

 

He took a sip from the bottle, turn the page of the book open, and began to read…

  
  
  


Hell, it was just as Cadillac thought. Aquaman, some blonde cracka was king of the damn seas and his only friends were dolphins and fish sandwiches. What the hell kind a superhero was he supposed to be? In the book, Aquaman and Aqualad (what the fuck kind of name was that for a sidekick) had to rescue Aquaman’s son, Aquababy (holy shit, for real?) from some cat named... 

 

“Black Manta!”

 

A tall, intimidating man decked out in a black marine suit, with a helmet that seemed reminiscent of a blood stained disco ball. Manta stood with an unbridled ease. He clowned fishboy, and fishboy Jr, like it was a damn game. He dangled Aquaman’s son in his face, forced him to fight his own protege. Manta laughed. Manta howled. Manta made Aquaman look like the fucker he was. 

 

And then...when it was all said and done...Manta killed Aquaman’s kid. Right there. In cold blood. Cadillac’s mother, the number queen and drug runner of Harlem, had always told Clarence (and he hated that name) that he couldn’t be soft when dealing with his enemies. 

 

_ If that sucka is dumb enough to cross you, then whatever comes to them is comin’ to them.  _

 

Cadillac lived by that law. And, as it seemed, so did Manta.

 

But the wildest thing that Cadillac had seen. The absolute  _ wildest _ ...was when Manta took his helmet off, and revealed the face of a nigga. A face carved from ebony stone. A face that resembled Cadillac’s own. 

 

The face of every cat Cadillac had passed in the Bronx and Harlem. The face of every drug pusher, disco dancer, and club runner on the upper east side. 

 

“Holy. Fuckin’. Shit.” 

  
  
  


Cadillac was sauntered down the streets of the Bronx liked he owned them (because really, he kind of did). Ain’t no body in the whole city hadn’t heard of the Disco Prince of Les-Inferno. His gold sequined jacket caught the light like a rear view mirror. His shoes glided across the pavement, and niggas got the fuck out the way when he walked past. 

These were his streets.

 

He had finished his mother’s work, dropped off the dope and picked up his money. And now, he had the rest of the afternoon to himself. He could call up some girls. Play a little NES, or work on his dance steps. Shit, ain’t nothin’ Cadillac couldn’t do. 

 

But down across Main street sat a little comic book store. The same place Cadillac had heard Shaolin Fantastic bitching about with his buddy...who was it? Ra? Whatever. Cadillac couldn’t worry about that shit. He had honeys to please.

 

...but what if they had the new issue of Aquaman? 

 

Not that  Clarence Cadillac Caldwell gave a shit about that nerd stuff. It was just...a new business venture. Nerds who couldn’t get it on with the ladies may want to start looking into some Blow or some Smack or some shit. Weren’t those dorky types always up for that kind a shit? 

 

Cadillac wrapped his jacket around waist. It was a business venture. 

 

Cadillac walked into that comic book store like the king of goddamn England. This place was on his streets, so as far as he was concerned he owned it. The place smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and dried sweat. Jesus, it was like the cats in this place had never heard of a shower. Cadillac sauntered to the front desk, and banged on the table top three times. 

 

“Can I get some damn service up in here, or nah?”

 

Two frumpty dudes walked up to the desk counter. Pale skin, and red rashes crwled up their necks like vines. A comic store run by white dudes. Figures. 

 

They took one look at Cadillac and shook. “Hey, uh, we don’t want any trouble, we-”

 

“Shut the fuck up, man.” Hell, these dudes were lucky Clarence was in a good mood, otherwise he woulda just shot them both and walked off. “I’m lookin’ for a new Aquaman comic book. The one with Black Manta in it.” He looked around and sucked his teeth, “Ya’ll got it or not?” 

 

The two men looked to each other, “Uh, yeah.” One of them reached beneath the counter and pulled out a fresh comic book. “H-here you go. W-we just got a new shipment in today.” 

 

Cadillac snatched it up, dropped a few crisp bills on the table and walked out. Hopefully, no one saw him. He clutched the comic beneath his jacket as if it were a bag of stolen mary jane. 

  
  


 When Cadillac got home, he tore into the book like a dog would a piece of meat. And lo and behold, there was Black Manta. Kicking all sorts of ass. He had infiltrated Atlantis. He had stolen Arthur’s treasures, and he was still giving that cracka grief about his kid. 

 

“Shit,” Cadillac said as he flipped the pages, “Manta’s a straight gangster. Ain’t no one fuckin’ with him.” 

 

Of course, there were those stupid endings where Aquaman defeated Manta and “the day was saved.” Of course, this shit was written by honkeys, right? Clarence threw the book across his room, and it landed square on his NES console.

 

“Someone needs to go to that damn company and tell them’ bitches how to write a brotha properly. Ain’t no way anyone on the Bronx would get put up by that piece a white fillet.” 

 

But, it was fiction after all. And Cadillac was the baddest nigga out there. So, Black Manta or no, Cadillac would put it out of his mind.

  
  


Except he found himself coming back to that same comic book store. Those skinny white dudes behind the counter were even beginning to recognize him now. He was a regular. They always had a recommendation for him. A new Aquaman comic book featuring Manta, or some back issues where Manta kicked all the ass he wanted. They had even talked him into purchasing one of those new Manta action figures.

 

It was an eight inch figure and was almost as tall as Cadillac’s forearm. It quality wasn’t the best. The figure didn’t capture Manta’s regality nor his badass attitude. But...for some reason, Cadillac had to have it.

 

“It’s from the TV show the Superfriends,” they said. 

 

“The Superfriends? You mean that lame ass show nerds watch on saturdays when they can’t get dates?” 

 

“They very one,” they told him.

 

“And why would I want to watch that?” Cadillac asked as he paid for his action figure and stuffed it in his jacket.

 

“Because Black Manta’s in it.” 

 

Damn.

  
  


So, Cadillac found himself tuned into Superfriends. Luckily the customers were still too spooked to go near the club, so no one would mind his absence. His mother was out doing business in Harlem, and he had the whole crib to himself. Which meant no one would see him watching a kids cartoon on a Saturday night. 

 

And the cartoon was just as he had expected. Stupid ass dialog. Stupider story lines. Aquaman being a dumbass and Superman being overpowered. 

 

But the Black Manta showed up, and everything became different. Manta moved. He spoke. He fought. He punched. He captured Aquaman and humiliated him time and time again. 

 

It was better than a marathon disco dance down at the club. 

 

Clarence heard himself cheering in spite of himself, “Alright! Get that cracka! Get him Manta!” And as the minutes worse on, Clarence found himself barefoot, and standing on his couch. His abandoned tank top flung to the floor, and his fists beating against the coffee table. “Shit!”

 

He was sweating. The disco prince of the Bronx, was sweating. Even the honeys didn’t make Cadillac sweat this much. 

  
  


Next Saturday came faster than a new druggie with a crack craving. Cadillac’s mother had returned from her business trip in Harlem, and the business for the club was slowly starting to pick back up. Apparently niggas weren’t afraid the place gettin’ shot up anymore. Good. The Disco Prince wanted to rejoin his subjects.

 

The club was hot tonight. Honeys, cats, disco dancers, a ball that shined overhead like the moon, and a sea of eyes that were glued to the one and only Cadillac Caldwell. What could be better?

 

Except....he was missing Superfriends. And not just any Superfriend’s episode. This one was supposed to feature Black Manta. At least, that’s what the guys at the comic book shop said. Something about Manta taking out Aquaman once and for all. 

 

But...that would never happen. It was a kids show and of course the heroes never lost. But the very idea of Manta takin’ out that punk Aquaman made Caldwell swell. He fingered his gold medallion, walked up the the DJ’s spin table and dropped a few bills. 

 

“Keep this place hot, I’ll be back in a bit.” 

 

And excused himself to his room. He grabbed his Manta figurine, turned the volume up loud enough to drown out the sounds of Donna Summer’s latest hit, and smiled.

 

He could disco down any night. But now, now he was gonna see his man Manta.

  
“A’ight Manta,” Cadillac said as he lit a cigar, “Let’s take out that Aquaman punk once and for all.”   


End file.
